


When the Cold Wind Blows

by helsinkibaby



Series: Inside the Tornado [24]
Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:42:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post "Posse Comitatus". "when the cold wind blows, we'll hold each other close...you will stay forever." Twenty fourth and last in the "Inside the Tornado" series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Cold Wind Blows

I'm humming to myself as I potter around my apartment, hair still damp from a long shower, clad in my oldest pair of faded blue jeans and a Carolina Panthers T-shirt. Considering I've been listening to The War of the Roses for most of the last week, it's surprising that I'm not humming that; but instead, it's George Strait that's getting an airing. I was driving into work this morning, and what should happen to be on the radio but one of my favourite songs of his, Adalida, and what could I do but turn it up as loud as I could, and sing along with it? Of course, the downside to that is that I was practically dancing around my office all day, and since I'm now not in the Steam Pipe Trunk Distribution Venue anymore, that presents a little bit of a problem. I never thought I'd pine for the days that I was buried down in that basement office, but at least there, I could play my country music, if I so desired, although most days I stuck to classical, just in case, and there was never any danger of Leo and me being discovered during one of our late night chats.

For a time, I didn't think I'd miss it at all; after all, Leo and I didn't need to talk in the office any more. We could talk in my apartment, where he was all but living with me.

Then Christmas came, and the New Year, and I didn't think we'd be doing any kind of talking for a long time, if ever.

Recently, since we've been finding our way back to one another, we've been talking a lot on the phone, meeting at the coffeehouse, but he's hardly been over here. It's happened twice; the first time was for dinner when the President and most of the Senior Staff were in Helsinki at a summit with the Russian president. We talked, and we laughed, and we ended up sitting on my couch, his arm around me, my head on his shoulder, silently listening to the Moonlight Sonata.

The second time was last week, the night which just happened to be the anniversary of the first night that Leo and I made love. Of course, it didn't just happen to be that night; I planned it like that. We've been moving in baby steps since we got back together, and when I realised that anniversary, realised how close we were to it, realised that I wanted to take the next step in our relationship, that seemed like the right time.

Of course, I didn't plan on him being in the throes of some huge moral dilemma, and I don't believe for a moment the line that he spun me about some hypothetical discourse he was engaged in with the President. There's something going on in the West Wing, something to do with clandestine meetings, and phone conversations that he can't have in the same room with me, meetings that go on late into the night. Something that darkens his eyes and shadows his face, something that's so top secret and serious he can't even tell me that it exists.

I told him once that I didn't care when he couldn't tell me things, and I meant that. I just wish I could get him to realise that I just want to be there for him, no matter what. That being said though, I have to believe that if it's important, he'll tell me. He learned at Christmas what bottling up his feelings can do; I firmly believe him when he says that not talking to me is what led him to go out with Jordan Kendall. He doesn't like talking about that, but it's important to me that he knows that he can.

I don't want there to be any secrets between us.

I accepted it when he pulled away from me that night, and I guess it's a measure of how much he means to me that I didn't take it as a slight against me. He had something on his mind; he didn't want anything to happen between us when he was even slightly preoccupied with anything other than me. Lord knows, there's not a lot of me who would do something like that. I even drove him to the White House that night, dropped him off around the corner, kissing his cheek quickly before he got out of the car, just in case someone should see us. He called me the next day, apologising for his actions, and I told him that he didn't need to, that I understood. I could hear the smile in his voice, but there was something else there too, something that I couldn't put my finger on. But I knew that it was to do with the dilemma of which he'd spoken the night before, the decision that he'd made that he wasn't happy with.

There was nothing I could do but be there for him, to listen, to support him, any way that I could.

So that's what I did. I talked to him on the phone, I met him at the place a couple of times, I even suggested that I cook him dinner here last night. I will admit that it wasn't just for dinner; that I wanted him to stay. But he declined the invitation, telling me that he wanted to accept, those words letting me know that he'd read between the lines of my invitation, but that once again that it wasn't the right time. I didn't agree with him, but once again, I accepted his word, knowing that he was only doing what he thought was right, knowing that he was afraid of hurting me again, that he'd do anything to prevent that.

He really is the sweetest man.

He can also be the most infuriating.

He's in New York right now, at The War of the Roses with the rest of the Senior Staff, and I only wish that I could be there with him. Aside from the fact that the music is wonderful and that I'd give my eye teeth to see it, he always looks so handsome in his tuxedo. I resisted the temptation to wander the halls of the West Wing today, in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him, choosing instead to hide out in my office. Considering that the Senior Staff have spent most of the last week frantically working the Welfare Bill vote, which certainly this morning was too close to call, and considering that the split is breaking down more or less along party lines, I chose discretion as the better part of valour, not venturing outside my door unless it was absolutely necessary.

On one occasion when I needed to use the copier, who should I run into but Donna, who greeted me with a smile. "Hey Ainsley," she said.

I smiled at her too, then checked my watch. "Shouldn't you be getting ready to go to New York?" I asked, and she rolled her eyes.

"Yes," she said, and her whole demeanour was that of a woman who was not happy with her lot in life. "However, Josh is working the vote, and is not going to New York. Therefore, I, as Josh's assistant, must stay also." Her lower lip stuck out in a pout, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep back a grin. Donna and I have talked about the play, Donna having asked me about it, knowing that I'm a big fan of musicals, and I lent her my CD, having raved about it to her. After about a week, I managed to convert her to fandom, and I know that she was really looking forward to it.

"That's too bad," I sympathised. "How's the vote?"

She made a face. "Josh made a deal with the leader of the WLC," she said quietly, looking from side to side as if afraid that someone would overhear us.

It took a moment to make the connection, and when it did, my eyes widened. "Isn't that-"

"Amy's boss," Donna confirmed with a nod. "She's going to lose her job for sure."

I looked down at my shoes, anywhere but at her face, because that can't be good for their relationship. And since I've always known that Donna has a thing for Josh, one would wonder how this would affect her. Since she's currently dating one of my best friends, since, in fact, I was the one who set the two of them up, I think I have a right to be interested in how a potential Josh and Amy break-up might affect Donna. "That's not good," is all I said, and Donna nodded again.

"I don’t think Josh is looking forward to going home tonight, that's for sure." She didn't sound upset at the prospect, but then again, she didn't sound like she cared that much either.

"What are you doing tonight?" I asked lightly, as she stepped aside, gathering up her papers, granting me free rein on the machine.

She grinned broadly, a tinge of pink staining her cheeks. "I'm meeting Cliff after the vote," she told me. "We're going out for dinner."

That answered that question for me at least. "Ah."

"I've to call him when the vote concludes and we'll sort out the when and the where. Presuming of course, that we win, which we will."

I laughed at that. "You mean you'll only date him if the vote goes our way?"

She just eyed me curiously. "Our way Ainsley?" She placed a teasing emphasis on the first word. "You're siding with Democrats now?" I didn't say anything to that, just shook my head, and she laughed. "I'll see you later," she called, moving away.

I finished my task there, then went back to my office, making sure to turn on the vote, and sure enough, there was little doubt halfway through that it would go the Administration's way. I didn't stay for the whole thing, instead going home, indulging in a long shower before coming out to my living room. Having had George Strait stuck in my head all day, I decided that the only thing to do was to surrender to it totally, thus my next stop was the kitchen, preparing a bowl of microwave popcorn before returning to the living room and popping a video into the machine.

It was Cassie, my college roommate, who first got me to like country music in general, and George Strait in particular. She was the one who convinced me that there wasn't a problem in the world that he couldn't solve, and when I broke up with my fiancé, Simon the Jackass, she got me to visit her in New York City, where one night was taken up with junk food and girly movies, the second a wild night on the town. That was the first time, believe it or not, that I saw the move Pure Country and it instantly became one of my favourites. I can't count the amount of times I've used it as a pick-me-up after a long hard day, or just whenever I want to spoil myself.

That's what I'm doing now.

I have a particular set of rules when I watch this film. Firstly, the sound has to be loud, especially during the songs, otherwise, what's the point? Secondly, I sing along at the top of my lungs. And of course, I throw popcorn when Leslie Anne Warren is on the screen. When it comes to the final part though, when he sings that song that he wrote just for her, that's when I reach for the tissues, now more than any other time, because I can't help thinking back to last summer, when Leo and I were just starting off on our new relationship, and he came home early one day to find me dancing in the kitchen to I Will Survive. As we were talking, the tape changed to this song, I Cross My Heart and he took me in his arms, and we slow-danced to the music, right there in my kitchen. The lyrics seemed to fit, seemed to be written just for us, from our love being unconditional, to finding a day where it started to storm. I remember he told me then that there might be stormy days ahead, but I don't think either of us knew just how stormy it was going to get, how close we'd come to losing everything. But we didn't. We're here, we made it. We're going to make it.

I know we are.

The end credits are just playing and I'm sniffling into a tissue when there's the distinct sound of the doorbell, and I hastily hit the mute button on the television, rubbing at my face with my hands. A quick glance at the hall mirror assures me that I don't look too bad, no red eyes or puffy face, but there's nothing I can do about the almost empty bowl of popcorn, or the kernels littering the floor in front of the television. I shrug to myself, just hoping that I can get rid of whoever it is, and without checking the peephole, I open the door.

To say that I'm surprised by what I see there is to understate the matter quite a bit.

"Cliff!" I say, stepping back to allow him into my apartment. "What are you doing here? I thought you and Donna had plans."

He steps in, hanging up his coat, not saying a word until he turns to me. "Yeah, Donna cancelled on me."

I frown with worry, hoping that she hasn't broken my friend's heart because of Josh Lyman. He's looking worried too, and I force a smile to my face, affecting non-concern. "So, you thought you'd come see me, huh?"

"Something like that." He gives me a quick, tight grin, moving past me into the living room; not that that worries me. Cliff is as at home here as he is in his own apartment. But I know Cliff. There's something wrong.

"Cliff?" I ask him, but he doesn’t answer, just keeps moving, forcing me to keep following him. "Cliff, are you ok?"

He stops at the couch, seeing the bowl, the popcorn on the floor, the open video box. "Good old George huh? Can't you quote the movie by now?"

"Word for word," I tell him, not a hint of a smile on my face. "What's wrong?"

He sucks in a deep breath, sitting down on the couch. "Ainse…"

"Cliff, you're scaring me." My legs are shaking suddenly and I sink down beside him, the fact that he takes my hands, squeezing them tightly, doing nothing for my nerves.

"Ainsley, something happened tonight. That's why Donna had to cancel on me. She called me…"

My heart stops beating for a second, then lurches painfully back to life. There's only one reason that he'd be looking at me like that. "No…" That can't be my voice, that ragged horrified whisper, and he shakes his head quickly; at least, that's what it looks like through the tears that are clouding my eyes.

"Ainsley, listen to me…" Cliff's voice is coming from very far away and his hands have let go of mine, moving up to grip my shoulders, shaking me firmly. A little voice in the back of my mind tells me that he shouldn't be doing that, that it's not nice, that Gramma wouldn't approve, but I can't find my voice to tell him that. "Ainsley, he's fine, ok? Leo's fine."

Those words reach me, pulling me back to him. "He is?"

"I'm not sure what happened," he says, speaking slowly. "Donna didn't have a lot of the details yet. There was a shooting…but not at the President. The Secret Service agent, the one who headed the detail protecting CJ Cregg?"

My memory conjures up the image of the tall dark and handsome man who'd been following CJ everywhere for the last three weeks, and although I'm not sure quite how, I manage to put a name to him too. "Simon Donovan."

"Yeah, Simon." Cliff takes another deep breath. "Apparently, he walked into a convenience store in the middle of a robbery. He subdued one suspect, but another one was hiding…he was shot." Tears stand in my eyes and he squeezes my shoulders once more. "He died instantly."

A sob escapes me as I consider how CJ, a woman I so greatly admire, must be feeling right now.

Immediately after, I recall how she looked at Simon when she thought that no-one was looking at her, and I know, with a bone deep certainty, that she was attracted to him, just as he was to her. No-one's said anything about it to me, no-one else has even noticed it, I think. I probably wouldn't have noticed it were it not for the fact that I've looked at Leo like that for so long that I can recognise that same look in someone else too.

I'm ashamed of this next feeling, but there it is - I'm so grateful that I don't know how she's feeling right now.

"But he's ok?" I ask. "Leo's ok?"

Cliff nods. "Donna was at the White House when word came through. Josh is coming back in; and the plane's gonna be late back tonight…they're not sure what time yet. I came over because I didn't want you to hear anything on the news, and not know what was going on…"

Cliff puts his arm around me, pulling me into a hug, and I go gladly, closing my eyes, just welcoming the comfort, while at the same time wishing that it was someone else. "You want me to stay a while?" Cliff asks, easing us back against the couch cushions, and I nod against his shoulder, feeling the lump in my throat dissolve into tears. He doesn't say a thing, just strokes my hair and mutters soothing words, trying to convince me that it's going to be all right.

I raise a shaking hand to my lips, not able to say anything else. I know, without even having to think about it, that if anything had happened to Leo, if I were in CJ's shoes right now, I don't know what I'd do. I don't know if I'd be strong enough to handle it.

What I do know is that I can't imagine my life without him, and that I don't want to try. I resolve to myself that when he gets back I'm going to tell him all that, tell him just how much he means to me, even though I'm sure he already knows. I want to make sure that he knows I want to move on with our relationship, even go public with it if he feels ready to do that. If he wants to wait until after the election, that's fine too. I just need to tell him that I'm in this for the long haul. I want to say the words.

The next time I see him, I'll tell him that.

Right after I drag him into my bedroom that is.

These and other pleasurable thoughts are going through my head, and I can feel my eyes getting heavier and heavier. I don't remember falling asleep, but I must, because the next thing I know, there's a persistent ringing in my ears and I'm sitting bolt upright, looking around, trying to figure out what in tarnation that noise is. I'm not at my best when roused from sleep, something that always amuses Leo hugely. I take in the sight before me, the television, still muted, showing what looks like CNN, the popcorn bowl, the video box, Cliff asleep beside me, and the memory of the night's events come crashing back down on me.

That's when I realise that it's the doorbell that's chiming, and I'm halfway to the front door before I'm even aware that I'm moving. I wrench the door open; not needing to check to see who it is, and when I see him standing there, tears fill my eyes again.

The only word to describe his appearance is dreadful. Not even during the initial furore over the MS announcement last summer did he look this bad, and he looked pretty bad then. His long coat is open, revealing his open tuxedo jacket, his bow tie long gone. But his dishevelled clothing is nothing compared to his face, which looks as if he's aged a hundred years in a matter of hours. His eyes tell a different story - they're at least a thousand years older than I've ever seen them.

My breath catches, and I'm barely aware that I'm whispering his name, stepping aside to let him in, a wordless invitation he accepts. I step backwards as he steps forwards, not breaking eye contact with him for a second, and he's doing the same, reaching blindly behind him to push the door closed. The moment the latch makes contact with the frame, I'm in his arms, or he's in mine, but we're holding each other, whatever way you want to look at it. His arms are wrapped around me so tightly that I can barely breathe, and I'm sure that he'd say the same of me. The hug is reminiscent of the one that we shared that night that I broke my date with Sam, the night I went to his apartment and told him that I didn't want us to be over. That night was a new beginning for us, and I'm getting the feeling that this is another one.

"God Leo…" I manage to whisper into his shoulder.

He pulls away from me, just enough so that he can look at my face, one hand coming around to cup my chin. "I know," he whispers, leaning down to press his lips to mine. It's not a long kiss, but it does me for the moment, and I bury my head in his shoulder when our lips part, wishing that I could hold him like that forever.

Forever is wickedly short though, for he stiffens in my arms, and it's at that moment that I hear a noise behind me, and I remember Cliff. Leo's arms drop to his sides, and I take a step back and away from him, turning slightly so that I can see from the corner of my eye the direction in which he's facing. Leo's to my right, staring straight ahead, and from my left eye, I can see Cliff, looking as awkward as I've ever seen him look, tie gone, top shirt button open, jacket over one arm. The two men are standing stock still, staring at one another, and while I wouldn't have thought Leo's face could get any paler, it just did. Glancing from one to the other, I realise how this has the potential to look to Leo, and my heart races. I open my mouth to try to explain what Cliff's doing here, but before I can say anything Cliff speaks.

"You must be Leo," he says, stepping forward and extending his right hand. "I'm Cliff, an old friend of Ainsley's from law school." Leo's still not moving, but Cliff keeps his hand outstretched. "It's nice to meet you," he continues. "Ainse has told me a lot about you."

It takes a moment for it to register with me what he's doing, and when it does, I want to hug him. Because it strikes me that the last time they met, the only times they've met, has been in a professional capacity, with Leo as White House Chief of Staff and Cliff as the Majority Counsel questioning him. They've never met socially, never known each other like I know them, just as Cliff my friend and Leo my boyfriend.

I see that realisation play out over Leo's face as well, and while at the end there's still some residual distrust in his eyes, he nods once, extending his hand, taking Cliff's and shaking it firmly. "Nice to meet you too," he says.

Rare an occurrence as it normally is, I once more find myself speechless, and Cliff saves the day again, stepping forward and putting a hand on my elbow. "I'll leave you in good hands," he murmurs, just loud enough for Leo to hear, but not looking at him, so that Leo can't see the little smile that he gives me. Cliff pulls me into another hug before he leaves, kissing my cheek before he releases me. "Call me if you need me," he whispers, then louder, "I'll see myself out."

My eyes follow his progress, and when the door closes again, I turn back to Leo, only to see that he's vanished. I make my way to the living room, see him standing there, coat and jacket both thrown across the couch. He turns to look at me when I come in, and I take a deep breath, plunging right into an explanation. "Donna told him about what happened, so he came over to tell me…I guess we fell asleep…" It's then that I realise that he never knew that Cliff knew about the two of us, and I hope that he's not going to be angry when he finds out how long I've kept that secret from him. "I realise that it must come as a shock to you to find out that Cliff has known about us, and kept the secret, but you must remember that he's a good friend of mine and that he would nev-"

"Ainsley." One word from him has me blinking, the words drying up immediately, but my brain taking a second to process that fact. He takes advantage of that by continuing with, "He's known for a long time, hasn't he?" I nod. "Before Christmas?"

Again, I nod. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you but-"

He cuts me off with a shake of his head, and my name from his lips. "Ainsley…" Whatever he was going to say vanishes with another shake of his head. "I don't want to talk about the past. Not tonight. Not after everything that's happened." He walks towards me slowly, like he's walking through quicksand. "I don't want to talk…or think…I don't want to do anything, except be with you." He's standing in front of me now, one hand reaching out to run a finger down my cheek, and the contact, the words that preceded it, send a shiver running up and down my spine. "I love you Ainsley," he tells me, his voice low and husky, and tears run down my cheeks as I leap into his arms, my arms around his neck, my lips on his, and I make good on the promise that I made myself earlier on, pulling him into my bedroom. He doesn’t resist in the slightest.

It could be hours, days, even months later when we're lying side by side, my head resting on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, strong and steady, under my ear. One of his hands runs slowly up and down my forearm, the other traces patterns up and down my back. It feels familiar, and nice, and right, and I can't believe I lived without it for so long. His demons and my pride cost us so much time, and I don't want to waste a second more. So I press closer to his side, kissing the side of his neck, and I feel his sigh of contentment. "Will you stay?" I whisper, and whether he knows it or not, I'm not just talking about tonight.

There's a pause before he replies, and when he does, his voice is thick with emotion, his words familiar. "I'll stay forever," he tells me, tightening his own grip on me.

I will not cry, I tell myself. This is exactly what I've wanted, the happiest I've ever been, and I will not cry. Not even if he's just told me exactly what I want to hear. I battle past the lump in my throat to give him the reply that I know he's waiting for, the one he expects, the one I've always given him, the one I always will give him when he makes me that promise.

"Well," I tell him, finally finding my voice, just before we both drop off to sleep. "That's fine too."


End file.
